


Nothing They Can Throw

by Stephen Greenwood (Stephen_Greenwood)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Post-The Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-19
Updated: 2009-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephen_Greenwood/pseuds/Stephen%20Greenwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It comes as little surprise to him when her whispered, ‘I need you’, caresses his ear a short while after their brief conversation, her hand closing around a fistful of his shirt in a meagre attempt to pull him closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing They Can Throw

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the second X-Files Porn Battle at LiveJournal in February 2009.

After a forced separation as long as theirs, and a death sentence thrown in for good measure, Mulder had expected their first coupling in far too many months to be hard and fast, fumbling fingers frantic with need, teeth clashing as tongues wrestled for control and hands relearned flesh made unfamiliar by thousands of hours without a single touch. He’d thought it would be like the beginning all over again, when his or her apartment door would close and a blazing trail of clothes would lead to the bedroom; her bra over the lampshade in the living room, perhaps, or his shirt unceremoniously dumped at the bottom of the bed, within reach so she could wear it when their sweaty bodies began to cool and their hearts stopped racing.

Instead, their reconnection takes place in a generic motel room that could have been any of the hundreds they stayed in on the Bureau’s dime; he paid for it himself this time, glancing nervously over his shoulder as the receptionist plucked a key from the wall and Scully slept in the car, head leaning on the window and the seatbelt cutting into her neck, looking not for flying cows but for men in black intent on taking her away from him again. He had nothing to fall back on, no more favours to call in or resources to exhaust – his nine lives had expired long ago – and he knew this was their last chance – their _only_ chance – at being together, even if they were under constant threat of persecution (but what else is new?).

It comes as little surprise to him when her whispered, ‘I need you’, caresses his ear a short while after their brief conversation, her hand closing around a fistful of his shirt in a meagre attempt to pull him closer, their loose embrace not providing enough contact for her liking. He remembers the sultry hint of arousal in her voice – they couldn’t take that away, no matter what – and those three words spark a fire in his chest that quickly spreads throughout his body, and he goes to work, trying to make her feel the same heat.

Instead of the rough race for release he’d imagined over and over again, the love they make is overshadowed by all they have lost; each stroke of his cock inside her brings to the forefront something else, someone else, they have left behind: her mother; their son; their freedom. Quite literally, all they own between them are the clothes haphazardly scattered about the room; the rest of their worldly possessions (a dog-eared photograph of his sister; a battered copy of 'Moby Dick' with her father’s handwriting on the inside cover; a baby book filled with glossy prints of an infant too young to recall his parents) sit in a cardboard box on the cheap wooden desk.

She cradles his face between her hands as he moves above her, inside her, keeping her eyes locked with his. Her legs wrap themselves tightly around his too-slim waist. She clings to him, needing to be reassured of his presence after waking up alone back in Georgetown, his scent still on the sheets, his side of the bed cold. But now, in a seedy motel room they could have rented by the hour, his skin is hot and slick against hers, his chest hair rubbing against her nipples in a delicious coincidence of friction, mirroring that between her thighs, and she doesn’t care where they are as long as they’re together and he continues to love her just like this because although the memories are oh so good, they simply can’t beat the real thing, and she would trade everything to keep him by her side forever (and, in a sense, she already has).

He leans in and captures her lips with his own, nudging them open with his wet tongue, engaging hers in an exploration that began in a jail cell however many insignificant hours ago; all that matters is the here and now and how incredibly good it feels, the triad of pleasure at both ends of her body and in the middle, too, and what she loves the most, what she has missed the most, is the feel of him surrounding her as the tidal wave crashes, overwhelming her, coursing through her, and he is there when she surfaces, gazing at her with total love and adoration in his eyes, those world-weary eyes of his, and her heart is full to bursting with the strength of her desire for him.

She gave up her life to be with him. She knows everything changed in the moment she made that decision but, as she told him, she would do it all over again. She can live without a steady income and her G-Woman suits, without a fixed residence and a place to call home. What she can’t leave behind is in this very room: she can’t be without Mulder, not again, nor can she forget who she is, where she has come from and where she has been. He is as integral a part of her as anything, and he reminds her by thrusting his hips sharply, a grin covering his face when she looks at him, smiling in return.

He is her everything now, and there is nothing they can throw at them to change that.


End file.
